Philian Gregory

by Simon J. Stephens

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then we start to apply a little pressure. Carrington cut everything out. He knew he had to. But this Gregory fellow, well, they tell me he’s bright, but that doesn’t mean he’s smart. We know where he lives, the minutiae of his personal life, and we know how he interacts with the world. He won’t escape from us, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he won’t know how to. Come on, this is London! You can’t fart without it being recorded somewhere. No, we’ll get him. And, when we do, he’ll lead us to Carrington.”

  “He better had.”, Sutherland hissed as he spoke, “Because if he doesn’t, you know the consequences.”

  “Jeremy,”, P replied, “we all know what you and your buddies are threatening. Believe me, we wouldn’t even be talking if we didn’t take you seriously. But, you need to know, the threats are wearing a bit thin. Half of the people you can implicate are dead. The rest of us respect your position, but we have limits. And don’t forget, Carrington has more on us than you’ve ever had. Don’t push it too far. We may choose to take a different tack.”

  “Okay.”, Sutherland sighed, “I hear you. Let’s just see if we can’t get this thing resolved soon. I’ve waited twenty years to pay Carrington back. That’s more than enough. I’m on borrowed time now and every day I live without purging the need for retribution is a day of my life lost. Get back to me in a week with a progress report. Yes?”

  “I’m hoping it will be sooner than that, but yes.”

  They ended the call simultaneously, each wanting to be the first to break the connection. Sutherland reported back to Roberts and Wilkins who both shared his anger and frustration about having been so close to their target. P meanwhile made his own follow-up calls. They were short and snappy, to some, aggressively given orders, to others, nothing more than a progress report. He wasn’t worried at this stage. Philian Gregory had led them this far and there was no reason why he wouldn’t guide them closer to Carrington. Gregory was as mainstream as P and his friends. Carrington was the exception. Carrington had the motivation to sacrifice all to drop off the radar, but Gregory had had too comfortable a life. Comfortable and sheltered. P’s was a world that few could imagine and even fewer could believe existed. It was the opposite subculture to that in which Carrington buried himself. It was the world of fiction novels and secrets that made conspiracy theories seem like easy-readers. But it was a very real world and a world that could bite back when it had to.

  Chapter Six

  To say that Philian Gregory was confused would be to underestimate the situation immensely. He sat in the taxi that crawled through the London traffic and tried to make sense of what was happening. Part of him regretted leaving the office without telling anyone he was going. It was a knee-jerk reaction that wasn’t really justified, even though it had felt so right at the time. Whoever his visitors were, what could they possibly have on him? If the link was Nathan, then all Gregory had done had been to befriend him, accept investment advice from him, and make sure that a cut of the profits that advice yielded was held in reserve for him. None of it illegal. None of it truly justifying his flight. Yet still, he’d fled. There was something about those visitors that he sensed was off.

  To the majority of people, such a sense may have gone unnoticed or simply been accepted as the healthy suspicion that attained to any stranger. Philian had never been like that though. He was the sort of person who instinctively trusted people. He lived life with an expectation of hope which transferred to those he met. Only when they acted to betray his trust or let him down, did he accept another’s faults. For which reason, the gut-feeling that his visitors had stirred in him was unusual enough to make him react as he had done. No doubt, with a little breathing space, he’d realise he’d overreacted and return to face the music tomorrow.

  By the time the cab had dropped him off and he was safely back in his apartment, that was the resolution that Philian had come to. He’d ignore the phone and any e-mails that might come chasing him today. He’d go back to work tomorrow and try to get a handle on what was happening. The only certainty that he knew about this situation was that it centred on Nathan Carrington. All else being equal, Carrington was the variable factor in this whole affair. Which realisation also bought a further understanding to Philian Gregory. For all he might have spent six months or more feeding him and saving money for him, he realised that he still knew very little about Carrington. Finding his address and his full name had been a practical quest. There were monies owed to that man and a savings account couldn’t carry just a Christian name. Other than that, prison had been a part of Nathan’s life, alcohol remained a large part of that life and somewhere in the past there was a historic element to him that spoke of a very different life once lived. Assuming too many things, on discovering his friend’s full name, Gregory hadn’t even entertained the notion that it would be simple to discover much more. But simple it was. As soon as he’d got himself settled with a cup of coffee and booted up his computer, a brief search on Nathan Carrington yielded more than Philian had expected to find. Much more.

  Nathan Carrington wasn’t as mainstream a name as some, but neither was it as unique as others. Philian often checked the web for another who shared his own first name but had still not found anyone. Despite their being a number of candidates, it didn’t take long for the penny to drop and the articles to come rolling out of the printer, fewer in recent years but that hadn’t been the case twenty years ago. Although it had all happened before the information overload of the internet, these were archived documents that had been added later. The first that he read was typical of most of the others:

  +++++

  Maths Professor Given Ten-Year Sentence

  Howls of protest and shouts of ‘Shame’, echoed through Court Two of Chester Crown Court yesterday as Nathan Carrington was sentenced to ten-years imprisonment for unlawfully detaining and committing acts of gross grievous bodily harm on the three men recently found guilty of raping and killing his daughter.

  Throughout the trial, Carrington had maintained a dignified silence, speaking only once to confirm his identity and to offer his plea of guilty. Despite this, and in response to the underlying reasons behind Carrington’s actions, a crowd of supporters had begun to gather outside the court. Thanking those supporters and the presiding judge, Carrington made no further comment as he was led away to begin his sentence.

  +++++

  The reports continued in the same vein. It all started to become as lot clearer to Philian as he devoured the reports and put two and two together. Three paedophiles, Roberts, Sutherland and Wilkins had abducted Carrington’s daughter and subjected her to a week of sustained abuse, the effect of which had been to kill her. They had been tracked down by Carrington who had performed certain acts of restorative justice on them before handing themselves and himself over to the police. The public had sided with Carrington. Page after page was written about the nature of vigilantism and whether it could ever be justified, with no conclusions being reached but Carrington leaving to begin his sentence with the general force of public opinion behind him. That was all twenty years ago. The same twenty years of the fixed term sentences that the three offenders had been given. Sentences that would now be completed. Surely, more than a coincidence?

  All of which helped Philian understand that there was more to Carrington than he had realised and that he was now in danger. That danger, and the harsher realisation of the situation for Philian, had been made all the more real by his putting Nathan Carrington’s name back into the public domain. They weren’t after a boring city trader at all. They were after Carrington and their purposes could only be to harm him.

  Was this something to concern Philian? That became the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. He only had limited information on Carrington anyway. Yes, they could force him to give up the location of his squat and yes, they could make him give a detailed description of his friend, bu
t other than that, what else could he help them with? And was this something that he felt compelled do anything about? Nathan would be away by now, would have cleared out of his home and be off the radar elsewhere in the country. Even if he could track him down, what protection could he offer? The guy had done well enough over the past decade. No, he could do nothing to help him.

  That was the conclusion that Philian had reached by late afternoon. It had been a hard day and one that he didn’t want to replay. He’d miss Nathan, certainly, and he would have to redouble his efforts to stay ahead of the game at work, but he couldn’t protect him. He’d helped him for six months, fed and watered him and befriended him. That had been the extent of his contribution and would have to remain the same. Then of course, there was the simple fact of the danger that Philian’s interference might add to the situation. If he tried to track Nathan down, then that would only help his pursuers. The account he’d set up in Carrington’s name had been opened for all the right reasons but it was what had exposed him. If he continued to meddle in this, how much more danger would he create?

  As he poured a three-finger measure of whisky and toasted himself for sorting the situation out in his head, Philian stepped out onto the balcony to breath some fresh air and to seek to purify himself from the murky cloud that his investigations had led him into. His apartment remained the only one in the block to be inhabited although he knew that the first of the refurbished units had just been sold. The solitude and peace of the place had been enjoyable, but it would be nice to have others to share the place with. Once the builders left, it was that little bit too quiet sometimes. Nice in small bursts but not so nice every day. And yet, it was that absence of noise that now alerted Philian to a potential new threat. He heard the car doors close with a solid thump and then the familiar creak of the fire exit door that was used by the maintenance men, the main foyer having been carpeted recently and Dexter not wanting it to be damaged.

  He listened intently as he tracked the visitor’s movements. Probably just workmen having left something or being asked to do a little overtime. But then, why the expensive sounding car doors that were attached to a vehicle that he hadn’t heard approaching? White vans were the preferred chariots of the labourers, and they announced their presence much more audibly. He leaned over the balcony and caught a glimpse of the black Mercedes. Dexter drove a white one. Or, to be more accurate, Dexter was driven in a white one. He was the only other regular visitor to the block, always accompanying prospective buyers.

  The sound of footsteps drew nearer. They were coming to visit him. He didn’t have visitors. Something wasn’t right. Of course, he’d give them the benefit of the doubt. He’d already made up his mind about what he was going to do and if these were the same people who had been at the office, which was a pretty sound assumption to make, then he could clear the air with them and have a good night’s sleep. He padded across to his front door and looked out through the spyhole to see them coming. It was them. They walked slowly to his door and pressed the bell. Philian continued to watch them. They looked tired and frustrated as they waited for him to answer. He’d make them wait a bit anyway. They rang again. As they did so, Philian saw the shorter of the two men reach around into his belt and remove a gun which he cocked and slipped into his jacket pocket. They dynamic of the situation changed. Guns were not a part of Philian’s life but he knew enough about them to be able to identify one and to understand its capabilities.

  “He may have gone out.”, he heard the first man say.

  “Probably getting something to eat.”, the other conceded, “We shouldn’t have gone on that detour. You’ll have to answer for that.”

  “No problem.”, the reply, “And anyway, this guy ain’t going anywhere. Man, I bet he doesn’t even know the first thing. Probably ran because he thought we were investigating some dodgy transactions. These are money-men we’re talking about. I’d trust a politician over them any day.”

  “Point taken,”, the other guy replied, “so we’ll wait. If he’s out for a takeaway, what’s it going to be? Ten minutes. If he’s having his supper out, then that’s only a couple of hours. And then he’ll likely be more compliant having had a drink or two.”

  “Supper?”, the other laughed.

  “Yeah, it’s what these sorts call their tea. Same difference though.”

  Philian watched as they walked towards the open door of the apartment opposite. They returned with a couple of large packing crates that they set up either side of his door and sat down to wait. Each checked their phones and were soon lost in replying to various messages.

  The stakes had just been raised. Philian edged away from the door and considered his next move. Guns weren’t good. Not good for him, although he didn’t really believe that one would be used on him. Even less good for Nathan. This added a new dimension to the whole situation. If he abandoned Nathan, it would be to his death. Could he, in all conscience, do that? The answer came more swiftly than he’d expected.

  Half an hour later, the bell rang again as the visitors grew more and more impatient. There was nobody in the apartment to hear it. Philian had put together a holdall with the essentials that he believed he needed, had gathered up whatever cash he could and retrieved the necessary passwords to secure some extra funding, and then, not wanting to meet with the men outside, had slipped over his balcony, dropped down onto the one below and made his way through the half-finished apartment block on stockinged feet. It still seemed unreal to him. This was the stuff of the films he so enjoyed losing himself in, but it wasn’t anything that actually happened in real life. Although, this was definitely happening. The last thing he’d done before leaving was to burn the hard-drive on his computer. It had seemed like a foolhardy and drastic thing to do, but it had also seemed like the right thing to do. There were searches on there that he didn’t want to leave a trace of. Searches that had given him a likely location for Nathan. He wanted to find him alone and this time, he didn’t want to carry the guilt of leading anyone to him.

  His intuition and the data he’d retrieved led him straight to Nathan. It had been a long-shot but it was the only one he could pursue. A trip to the squat only told him what he already knew, that Nathan would have returned to retrieve his important belongings before making a sharp exit. From there, he had one place left to go. He took a gamble on leaving it until the following morning, sleeping surprisingly soundly in the bed and breakfast that took cash and asked no questions. The others could track Nathan’s likely location easily enough, but they’d seemed more focused on him that night. It would have been the early hours when they realised that he wasn’t returning. Maybe they’d broken in and searched the place. They wouldn’t find anything substantial. That gave them both time to consider their next move.

  “I’m sorry.”, Philian whispered as he approached Carrington who turned and simply nodded at him.

  “You weren’t to know.”, he sighed, seemingly unsurprised to see him there.

  “And I’m sorry,”, Philian moved nearer, “for all of this.”

  The gravestone that he waved his hand over was small. The plot was smaller than the others too. Primary-aged girls took up less space than their adult companions. It was the only white one in that section of the church yard, and it was clearly well looked after. The polished stone glittered in the early morning sunlight and Nathan’s daughter’s name was clearly visible, Patricia picked out in gold leaf. It had been a punt by Philian. It had paid off.

  “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Sorry,”, Carrington whispered, “but it’s true. This is my tragedy, my trial.”

  “But now we’re drawn together by it.”, Philian replied, “You seem soberer than I’ve ever known you, so we can talk and I know you understand. Just out of interest, how do you just switch out of the alcoholic blur?”

  “Oh, trust me.”, Nathan smiled as he re
plied, “If you ran the tests on me, you wouldn’t want me anywhere near a driver’s seat. But, in answer to your question, the adrenaline rush and the urgency of things overrides what’s going on. And I also try and make the effort when I visit these two.”

  “Two?”

  “Yes, my wife’s ashes are scattered here as well.”, tears began to form on Carrington’s eyes as he explained, “We’d always said that we didn’t want a permanent grave. I respected Martha’s wishes and all that was left was allowed to mix into the ground around Patty. But we didn’t want Patty’s death to go unremembered. I come here to remember her, but I come here to remember what her death represents. The two of them are in a better place now, but this chunk of marble stands to tell the world a story. A story of evil. It needs to be told.”

  The two men stood quietly over the grave until Philian deemed that the time was right to break the silence.

  “We should go.”, he spoke gently as he placed a hand on Carrington’s arm.

  “We?”

  “Yes, we.”, Philian sighed, “I can’t begin to say that I understand anything that’s going on, but the sight of guns, sort of prompted me.”

  “Oh, yeah,”, Carrington chuckled, “they like their guns. But please, don’t give up your own life for me. I’m not worth it. Seriously, this has to end. I’m sick and I’m tired of running all the time. You should go. Leave me here for them to find. Then they’ll leave you alone.”

  Philian considered the offer. This was the first time that he’d seen Nathan Carrington as he truly was and not pitched into oblivion by the alcohol he set so much store by. He understood that this was an act of sacrifice on his friend’s part. The sacrifice of giving up his own life to bring an end to the cycle of revenge, and the sacrifice of sobriety, that he might say a fitting farewell to his daughter. Neither of which encouraged Philian to walk away.